


Fight or Flight

by msred



Series: Starting Over [8]
Category: Chris Evans (actor) - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Long-Distance Relationship, POV Original Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 16:37:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20361679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msred/pseuds/msred
Summary: “You can’t just storm out of your own house,” he told me through gritted teeth when I put my hand on the door handle.“Watch me,” I spat back without turning around.We’d never fought before, still in that honeymoon phase of exploring and learning new things about one another and finding each new thing sweet, or amusing, or intriguing. The closest we’d ever come to fighting were my anxiety attacks, but even then, I was only ever scared and he was only ever gentle and respectful, talking me through it until I was calm enough to think rationally again. My fight or flight kicked in and it scared me, because the irrational, anxious part of my brain said that if we fought, that meant we shouldn’t be together at all, and that he would see that too and leave me. It also scared me because if it was something I was willing to fight for, then it was something that would hurt to lose. So instead of fighting, I ran.





	Fight or Flight

**Author's Note:**

> So, I had to abandon my whole "no first names" rule for this one. The narrator still never gets named (so please, by all means, throw yourself in there if you wish), but this one doesn't just have clues as to who he is, it has big flashing neon signs. Oh, and the tags, of course.

_ 4 months together (Memorial Day weekend, Year 2) _

I’d gotten spoiled. Chris hadn’t worked since he wrapped on our movie, which meant I’d been getting to see him a lot more than I knew I should consider ‘normal.’ With the exception of one week back in L.A. for an event and some meetings, he’d been staying in Boston all that time, which made it fairly easy to make time for visits. He typically came to me, usually for a few days or a week once a month or so; it just made sense, both from a financial perspective and because I was still working a Monday-Friday job. I did get to go to him once, though, over my spring break in April. I’d never been to Boston, so that part of it was exciting, as was the idea of getting to share in a part of  _ his  _ life for once, but it was also a little terrifying. I asked him if he thought two and a half months - a long distance two and a half months, at that, which made it feel like less in many ways - was too soon to meet his family, but he told me his mom had been waiting to meet the woman who had him traipsing back and forth to Virginia since the first time he’d made the trip out of choice rather than necessity. I told him that didn’t exactly make me any less nervous, but he’d only laughed, slid his hands into my back pockets, kissed my forehead, and called me ‘Bashful.’ 

He was going to start working again at the end of June, a character-driven family drama filming mostly on a sound stage in L.A., so we’d started trying to squeeze in as much time together as possible. When Memorial Day weekend rolled around he’d been with me for just over a week. He was going to go back home to Boston for several days after the holiday, then come stay with me again for a week in mid-June before heading back to his place in California. 

Each time he came back to visit, I worried that he was going to get tired of waiting for me to be ready to sleep with him, tired of sleeping in the guest room because as much as I knew that it was probably not a good idea to have sex with him (yet), I also knew that if we shared a bed, I wouldn’t be strong enough to make good choices. It wasn’t about not wanting him; I wanted him so, so much. I couldn’t look at him without thinking about how much, and every time he touched me, or kissed me, I nearly melted. Still, even without taking that step, there were times I froze up, moments when anxiety took over and I panicked, convinced I had no business being in a relationship at all - not that he wasn’t good enough, but that I wasn’t, that I was broken beyond repair and he deserved better - and I knew that sex would only have complicated the mess inside my brain. But, he never complained. He insisted he was perfectly happy sitting on my couch with me each night until I was ready for bed, usually pushing it until I fell asleep on his shoulder or with my head on his thigh, then retiring to the guest room when I moved to my own bedroom. And every time I had an anxiety attack, he talked me through it, never acting like I was too much trouble and never letting me end the conversation until I’d calmed at least enough to stop trying to convince him that I was.

“So,” he said when I dropped onto the couch next to him when I got home from school that Friday.

“So?”

Millie had jumped out of the recliner to dance around our feet when I sat down, and he leaned forward as he talked, flapping her ears and ruffling the hair on her neck. “I was thinking about what we should do for your birthday -”

“ _ Our  _ birthdays,” I corrected him, like I’d done every time he’d brought up my birthday over the past week.

“Are you always going to be like this?” He acted annoyed, but there was definite affection in his voice. 

I smirked, playing along even while my brain wrapped around the way he talked in the future tense. “Maybe.” I leaned over to kiss his cheek then settled back against the couch cushions and dropped my head to his shoulder so he couldn’t see my face. “Honestly, I just, I don’t like it when people make a big deal over me.” I shrugged. “It makes me feel guilty. And your birthday is only three days before mine. It just seems wrong to let you go out of your way.”

He sighed. “You know you’re going to have to let me spoil you eventually, right? I mean, I know you love taking care of other people, but sometimes I just wanna take care of you.”

I turned to drape my arm over his waist, nuzzling my face into his neck, and Millie huffed at us for paying more attention to each other than to her then went back to her chair. “Because you’re too good to me.”

He pulled his arm from under me to wrap around my shoulders. “Because I love you.” It wasn’t the first time he’d said it, but every time made my stomach flip. “Anyway,” he went on without giving me a chance to say it back - he did that sometimes, and I worried that he thought I only said it back because I felt obligated to - “back to the birthday ** _s_ ** ,” he emphasized the ‘s.’ “I wanna take you-I wanna  _ go  _ to Disney World.”

“What?” I pushed myself off him and I tried not to smile because I already felt bad about how excited I was. “You’re not serious.”

“Yeah I’m serious. I’m always serious about Disney.” He grinned and I loved that smile he got, the one when he was just purely, unabashedly happy. “I still can’t believe you’ve never been, but hey, this way I get to be your first.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me; we may not have actually been having sex, but that didn’t mean we never joked about it or that our conversations weren’t often laced with innuendo.

“Yeah, well,” I chuckled and rolled my eyes at him, leaning down to undo the clasps on my dress sandals, “not a whole lot of family vacations growing up.”

“Ahh, yeah, about that.”

“About what?” I sat back up and angled myself so that I was just perched on the edge of the couch, my knees almost touching his.

He sat up a little straighter, mirroring me. “Well, I was thinking we could make your -  _ our  _ birthdays a family vacation. You, me, the Evans clan, who are all dying to see you again, by the way, and your family.” He grinned at me; he looked proud of himself, so I really hated to burst his bubble. I had to, though.

“I, uh,” I looked down and watched my hands smooth over my skirt, “I don’t think that’ll work.”

“I know three weeks is short notice, but if money is an issue, don’t worry about it. We can all stay in a condo, and I’ll take care of the tickets. Think of it as part of your gift.” He smiled and brought his hand to my leg, his thumb rubbing over my knee.

Honestly, the money  _ would _ have been an issue for my family, short notice or not. But I knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t have even mentioned it if he hadn’t planned on covering all the costs. That wasn’t why I said it wouldn’t work. I shook my head. “I just … don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes, “Your family, or mine? Or both?”

“Mine. I’d love to see yours again.” 

“Then why not yours? Your nieces and nephews will be out of school, right?”

“Yeah,” I sighed.

“Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“I’d just -” I dropped my head and brought my thumb and forefinger to the inner corners of my eyes. “I’d rather not.” My hand fell back to my lap when I looked up at him.

He nodded but didn’t say anything at first, staring at his hands where they clasped together between his knees. “Like you’d rather not take me to Kentucky for part of your spring break.”

I drew my eyebrows together and looked over at him, confused. “I wanted to go be with you in Boston.” 

He nodded again. “Right. But we could have split the time, together. And your mom wanted to come here this weekend, for Memorial Day, but you told her no.”

“Right,” I agreed, agitation creeping into my voice, “because I wanted to spend it with you.” And also because it was the same weekend as my wedding anniversary, a fact I’d told him a while earlier but that he hadn’t mentioned, either because he’d forgotten, which I seriously doubted, or because he was giving me the space to process it however I needed. My mom would not have been so thoughtful.

“And I told you I didn’t mind sharing you for a couple days. I think my exact words,” he turned his head toward me and I was a little startled by the look on his face, hurt, but also a little bit of something else, anger maybe, “were that I’d be thrilled to meet your mom.”

I shook my head and chewed on my bottom lip. My eyes rolled up to the ceiling for a couple seconds before I brought them back down to his. “Chris,” I sighed, and my voice grew a bit harsher, “it just wouldn’t have been a good idea.” 

“Why?”

I snapped at him. “Because it wouldn’t have been. Trust me.” 

I was confused by the way things had changed, by the growing frustration in his voice, and even by my own reactions, fully emotional and not at all rational. He brought his elbows to his knees and dropped his head between his raised arms, covering the back of his head with his hands. Finally, he sat up again, letting his forearms fall so that they crossed in front of him, but he didn’t look over at me, instead staring straight ahead. “Why don’t you want me to meet your family?” 

My heart started to pound, and anger, borne out of anxiety and defensiveness, started to rise in me. “What?”

He looked over at me then, and normally when he looked at me it was full of affection, often some teasing, but then all I saw was confusion mixed with hurt and maybe even a little bit of suspicion. “You’re keeping me from meeting your family. Why?”

“I, it’s,” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Please don’t.” I could feel my hands starting to tremble so I squeezed them both into fists. I didn’t want to fight with him. We’d never fought before, still in that honeymoon phase of exploring and learning new things about one another and finding each new thing sweet, or amusing, or intriguing. The closest we’d ever come to fighting were my anxiety attacks, but even then, I was only ever scared and he was only ever gentle and respectful, talking me through it until I was calm enough to think rationally again.

“Look. I took you to Boston, I introduced you to my family, and I know you were nervous about it, but it went really well, I think. So now I’m trying to meet your family -”

“Wait.” I stopped him, one hand up between us. “Is that why you did the whole birthday Disney thing? A, a  _ ploy  _ for me to have to introduce you to my family?” 

“What? No!” He looked like I’d slapped him and I felt guilty, if still angry. “No, of course not. But I do think it’s strange that you’re working so hard to keep from introducing me. So I can only think of two reasons why you don’t want me to meet them. One, you don’t think they’ll like me. You’re embarrassed, maybe because I’m not as educated as you or because my career isn’t as important or as meaningful as yours or your husband’s. I don’t know.” He shrugged and I only stared at him, my mouth open in disbelief.

“Chris, you need to stop. This is ridiculous.”

“Well, then the only other reason I can think of is that you’re not actually serious about our relationship.”

“ _ Excuse me? _ ” I didn’t mean to, but I raised my voice, almost yelling. It was the first time I’d ever done that with him.

“I’m your little celebrity crush _ fling,”  _ he raised his voice back, not quite as loud as mine, but almost, “your rebound until you decide you want to have a  _ real  _ relationship again.”

“Okay,” I stood from the couch and bent over the coffee table where I’d dropped my purse when I came in, digging through it for my keys. “I’m not doing this.”

“What are you doing?” he asked, almost dismissively.

I didn’t say anything until I finally had my keys in my hand, then I stood and shoved both feet back into my sandals without clasping them. “You know what,” my voice had returned to its normal volume but it came out almost cold, “you’re out of your damn mind.” I walked to the door and heard him stand behind me. “And I thought  _ I  _ was the one with mental health issues,” I mumbled under my breath, but I knew he could hear me. 

“You can’t just storm out of your own house,” he told me through gritted teeth when I put my hand on the door handle.

“Watch me,” I spat back without turning around.

I drove not even a mile, to the small park on the other side of my neighborhood, and parked in the four-car parking area at the entrance, sobbing before I even had the car turned off. I was angry, at him for pushing me on something I didn’t want him to push on and for questioning my motives, but even more at myself, for not just being straightforward with him in the first place and for not having the guts to stand there and face him when he questioned me. I had been immature and I made sure that the last thing I said was something I knew would hurt him. My fight or flight kicked in and it scared me, because the irrational, anxious part of my brain said that if we fought, that meant we shouldn’t be together at all, and that he would see that too and leave me. It also scared me because if it was something I was willing to fight for, then it was something that would hurt to lose. So instead of fighting, I ran.

I sat there like that for about 20 minutes, crying until my head hurt and my eyes were puffy and red. The longer I sat there, the more disgusted I grew with myself. I’d screwed up. So had he, but mine was worse. He’d hurt me with his pushing and his accusations, but it hadn’t been intentional. On the other hand, I’d dug in my heels, refusing to just talk to him and finally saying something intentionally hurtful. I pulled the neckline of my dress up to my eyes and dragged it down my cheeks to wipe away the tears, streaking it with mascara and foundation. I could only imagine what my face looked like - I could have checked a mirror but I didn’t take the time - but it didn’t really matter.

When I walked back in the front door, he was still on the couch where he’d been before, Millie sitting by his feet with her chin propped on his thigh and his hands clutching his phone between his knees. His head shot up when the door opened and his eyes were pink-rimmed. “I tried to call you,” he told me, holding up his phone with one hand, “but uh, then I realized you left your phone here.” He gestured toward my purse where my phone would have vibrated when he called.

“I’m so sorry,” I told him, my voice cracking and my throat aching from trying to hold back the sobs that threatened to push their way out again. I crossed the room to him in as few steps as possible and tossed my keys onto the table in the general direction of my purse. “So, so sorry,” I whispered, dropping to my knees in front of him and sitting back on my heels as I brought my hands carefully, gingerly to the outsides of his thighs, twisting away as Millie licked at my face. 

“Hey, no,” he set his phone on the end table next to him then closed his hands around each of mine and tugged me up gently, guiding me to sit next to him. “That’s not how this works. You and me, we’re even,” he passed his hand between our chests, “equal. There’s no kneeling.” In the back of my mind, I waited for the sex joke, but it didn’t come, and for some reason that made me even sadder. “Look, I screwed up. You said you didn’t want your family to come, and I should have respected that.” He ran his thumbs over my knuckles.

I nodded. “You should have. But I screwed up too. Big time. I should have been more open with you. I shouldn’t have walked out like that. And I should  _ not  _ have said what I did before I left. That was completely out of line and I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I - I was feeling insecure and anxious and what you said hurt me, so I wanted to hurt you. It was wrong.” I was losing the battle with my tears, and a couple new ones slid down my cheeks. He reached up and wiped away one, then the other.

“It wasn’t great,” he agreed. “But I do think we could both benefit from chats with our therapists. If we learned anything from that whole shit show, it’s that insecurity-induced anxiety is a bitch.”

“Yeah it is,” I scoffed. “But you know I don’t actually think that about you, right?”

“It’s okay,” he cupped his hand around the back of my arm and squeezed.

“No, it’s definitely not. I crossed a line, and you shouldn’t just let me off the hook.”

He nodded and sighed. “Okay. Then yeah, that was a shitty thing to say. Yeah, I should’ve been more respectful when you didn’t want to talk about whatever your reasons are for not wanting to introduce me to your family, but nothing I said was meant to hurt you. My feelings may have been exacerbated by my anxiety, but they were,  _ are _ , real. What you said was just mean.”

It broke my heart, mostly because it was true. I drew in a deep breath and it stuttered over the sobs caught in my throat. He reached up for my face again, but I looked down into my lap; I needed to hold myself accountable for what I’d done, and if I let him comfort me I would be too tempted to take the easy way out. “My turn,” I told him, and waited until his hand was back on his leg before I looked back over at him. “Walking out was just immature and stupid, period. And there is nothing I can say that will come close to justifying my last comment, so all I can do there is tell you how truly and sincerely sorry I am and hope you’ll forgive me for blurting out something hurtful that I didn’t actually mean.” His almost-smile and the look in his eyes told me he already had, but he didn’t say anything, waiting for me to continue. “And all the other stuff, I should have been more open with you. You were right about one thing.” He lowered his eyebrows and tilted his head just a little. “I  _ don’t  _ want you to meet my family.” 

He nodded and took a deep breath, tilting his head up and away from me a little to study my ceiling, his neck straining with tension. Finally, he looked back at me and asked, “Can I ask why? And let me just say,” he put out the hand between us and rested just the palm against the outside of my thigh, keeping his fingers stiff, “if you don’t want to tell me, I’ll respect that the best I can, but don’t forget that you’re not the only one of us with anxiety, and sometimes my brain fills in the blanks on its own. As you are now well aware, that’s not always a good thing.”

I covered his hand with mine and he relaxed his fingers against my leg. “Please understand, it’s not about not wanting them to meet you. I don’t want  _ you  _ to meet  _ them _ .”

“Can you explain the difference?”

I looked down at our hands and started to trace his fingers - up the index finger from knuckle to tip, then down the middle one, up his ring finger, then down his pinky, then back the other way - as I organized my thoughts. “They’re not good people, Chris. They’re not. Except my grandparents, but they don’t travel, so I’ll take you to them someday. And my niece. But anyway. The rest of them, I’m afraid, first of all, that if you meet them,” I rolled my eyes, “they’ll either treat you terribly or like, ask you for things. But more than that, I’m afraid that once you meet them, you’ll see me differently.”

He lifted his hand off my leg and twisted it around to grab my hand, sliding his fingers between mine and holding firmly. “I’m not going to think less of you because you have a crazy family.”

“No,” I scoffed, “not crazy, terrible. I mean yeah, crazy too, but that’s not the part I’m worried about.” I looked down to where Millie had situated herself between my knees and reached forward to scratch between her ears absentmindedly. “What if you meet them, and you see how terrible they are, and you decide that, deep down, I must be like them? And you deserve better than that.”

“Hey,” he stopped and waited, and when I didn’t look at him he reached across both of us with his free hand and used two fingers under my chin to turn my face toward him. “Are you worried that  _ I’m _ going to think that, or do  _ you  _ think that?” My eyes started to water and I rolled them toward the ceiling and blinked to try to keep the tears from falling. I tried to turn away from him again, and when he wouldn’t let me I just tilted my head and gave him a look that told him he already knew the answer to his own question. “Okay, stop. Fight’s over, okay? We’re done.” He lowered his face so that we were eye-to-eye. “ _ Done _ . Because right now, my girlfriend, my beautiful, kind, loving girlfriend, who puts everyone else before herself, needs to be reminded of all those things. So I’m gonna do that now and the other stuff can wait.” He leaned in until his forehead hit mine and I closed my eyes because I was going cross-eyed trying to look at him. “I don’t care if your family is the Mansons, or worse yet, the  _ Trumps _ ,” I huffed out a breath through my nose and felt his hands come to my shoulders, “you are you, not your family. And nobody else’s shit is going to change who I know you are, or make me love you any less. Do you think I’m a piece of shit?”

My eyes flew open and I pulled back a little. “What?” 

“Do you think I’m a piece of shit?”

“Of course not. You’re one of the best people I’ve ever met.”

“Well, I don’t know about that, but only a piece of shit would turn his back on somebody he says he cares about because they’ve got some … some  _ baggage _ .” I smiled at him a little, as much as I could, and he closed the small gap between us to kiss the tip of my nose. “Okay, so will you-do you want to tell me about it, at all?”

“A little bit, for now, if that’s okay?” I figured I’d ease my way into it. I’d fill him in, bit by bit, over time, and maybe by the time he did meet them, whenever that ended up being, he’d be prepared and I wouldn’t stress so much over it.

“Sure.”

I pulled one leg, the one closer to him, up onto the couch and tucked my foot under the other thigh, turning toward him and resting my hands on his leg. “Well, they’re  _ not  _ the Trumps, but they did all vote for him. Except my grandmother.” He scrunched his nose and made a face like he was in pain and I nodded. “Yeah. Umm, my brother is just kind of a miserable person. He’s mean, and hateful, and tends to do things out of spite. Annnd, his wife is basically the female version of him. So yeah, they’re not exactly a joy to be around.” Chris reached up and combed his fingers through my hair. He always seemed to enjoy it, a physical connection that was completely innocent and not at all sexual, and it had always been one of my favorite sensations, since I was a little girl. I don’t think I’d ever told him that exactly, but every time he’d done it my response had been positive, soothed, and so he continued to do it. “And my mom is … complicated. She doesn’t think I should be in a relationship.”

“With me? Or …”

I shook my head. “At all. I started kind of floating the idea, feeling her out, when I was there over Christmas,” he looked a little surprised and I rolled my eyes. “At that point, I knew that the next time I saw you, I was yours, if you still wanted me.” 

“Can I interrupt you for a second?” I nodded, eyes wide, and he reached up to cup both my cheeks gently. He pulled me in and pressed his lips to mine, then pulled back a fraction of an inch only to lean in and kiss me again before whispering against my lips, “I still wanted you then, and every day since.” He kissed me one more time then sat back. “Okay. Continue.”

I sat unmoving for a second, dazed. He never failed to surprise me. “Um,” I shook my head a little. “Right. Well,” I stopped again and closed my eyes, drawing my top lip between my teeth, “sorry, you distracted me.” I swatted at his leg and he grinned that lopsided little smile I loved so much. I drew in a deep breath and blew it out through my mouth. “Okay. So I mentioned that I was considering dating again, and she was really, really not on board.”

“Because she thought it was too soon?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “That. But not just that, I think. I think  _ she _ thinks that if I stay single, and unhappy, long enough, I’ll move back to Kentucky.”

“You really think your mom wants you to be unhappy just so you’ll move home?”

“At my husband’s memorial she told me future employers wouldn’t hold it against me if I left my job right then instead of finishing out the school year before I moved back. My mom is a very emotionally dependent person. Almost toxically so. And ever since I was a kid, it’s been my responsibility to take care of her, to kind of prop her up, so I think now she’s waiting for me to come back and take on my old position.”

“Baby.” He ran his hand up and down my back and looked at me sadly. “That’s fucked up.”

“Little bit,” I agreed. “And I’m afraid, when I do take you to meet my family, that she won’t treat you well because of that. Or that she will, but that it will be fake just because of who you are. But look, this was supposed to be an apology, not, not a pity party for me. If I would have just been honest with you in the first place, we could have avoided this whole mess. So I’m really, really sorry I didn’t do that.”

He reached for the ankle that was tucked under my other leg and gently pulled it free and over his lap, then lifted my other leg up and over as well so that they were both draped over his. “Look,” he kneaded my calves a little with his hands, “we both messed that up, period. I do wish you would have just talked to me about this stuff so that my brain wouldn’t have had to fill in the blanks, and also just so that I would have known these things about your life. But I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that, and I should have reacted better when you said you didn’t want them to come.”

“I  _ will  _ introduce you to them. Just, maybe not on a vacation that they can ruin for you, me, and your entire family?”

“Yeah, about that,” he ran his hands up my legs just to the hem of my dress and squeezed once, “I thought about it while you were gone and that just wasn’t a great idea. The family part, I mean,” he rushed to add. “I love Disney with my family, and I’d love for you to be part of that some time, but this is the first time we’ll be spending  _ our birthdays _ ,” he drew out the words, smirking at me as he did, “together, and the first time we’ll be going somewhere together - you know, somewhere that one of us doesn’t  _ live. _ I don’t think I want to share that with anybody but you.”

I don’t know how he always managed to do it, but no matter what was going on, no matter how tense or stressed or upset I’d been, he had a way of diffusing me. He could calm me, soothe me, and before I even knew what had changed, he was being cute or silly or flirty and I was feeding into it completely. I loved him a little bit more for it.

“Hey, can I say one more thing?”

“Of course, baby.”

“You know I love you, right?” I watched him, and I saw him falter just a little bit. He nodded, and his smile stayed in place, but his eyes gave him away and I knew that, even if only a little, he questioned it. “Okay,” I sighed, “when I say it, I don’t just say it because you said it first. I say it because I mean it. And I don’t mean like, ‘I  _ like  _ you,’ or like, ‘I love spending time with you.’ I mean ‘I love you so much I feel it all the way to my toes.’ I mean ‘You make me happier than anyone I’ve met in 20 years.’ I mean ‘You make me feel like the best version of myself and  _ not  _ loving you wouldn’t even be an option for me.’”

“Your toes, huh?” He grinned and I shook my head at him.

“That’s what you’re taking away from this? Really?”

“You do have cute toes.”

“Eww.”

He closed his eyes and dropped his head, his chin hitting his chest. “Yeah, I regretted it as soon as I said it. That was weird.”

I fisted his t-shirt just over his collarbones and pulled him toward me. “C’mere, weirdo.” I closed my eyes as I kissed him, humming against his lips. “I love you.” I kissed him again. “I love how good you are to me.” And again. “I love how you never give up on me, or let me give up on us.” One last kiss as he dragged me up fully onto his lap by my hips. “I love that you support me, and respect me, and always treat me like your partner.” I slid my hands up onto his shoulders then around his neck, one sliding down between his shoulder blades and the other pushing up into his hair. He held me close to him and kissed me until I was a little senseless, teasing my lips with his tongue and even nipping at them with his teeth. And just when my head started to swim and I started to think that I might be getting carried away, he pulled back.

“I love you back.” 

**Author's Note:**

> All stories in this collection will be an anthology of connected one-shots that exist within the same universe; and the officially no longer follow chronological order. They may eventually be reorganized into novel-format, but that would be quite a way down the road.


End file.
